White Lavender
by MidnightAllure
Summary: AU. Hardworking and determined, Momo's mother is desperately ill. Momo's quest to save her life takes her to the camp of the West where chance brings her and Hitsugaya together. HitsuHina.
1. Chapter 1

_Hinamori Momo's 8__th__ Spring_

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Momo's hands clutched her mother's tightly as she stared up in awe at the towering forms of the warriors before her. One fist was clenched loosely around a pretty wildflower she had found earlier in the day, now all but forgotten at the eagerly caught glimpses of shining armour and weaponry through the gaps between the spectators, all of which were taller than her.

"Momo-chan," her mother beckoned and Momo was lifted up onto her shoulders, now a full head taller than the spectators. With a bright laugh of surprise and joy, the young girl feasted her eyes on the parade.

"Are they really barbarians, mama?" she questioned, eyes growing round in wonderment at the strong bodied people dressed in rich clothing before her.

Her mother smiled from below her, catching her daughter's question. "No darling, they're from the West."

"Then why does Tenma-sensei say they're barbarians?" Momo insisted, eyes never leaving the parade.

Her mother inwardly gave Tenma a dark look at teaching her daughter such things but replied, "Because that's what the Empire says, and Tenma takes his orders from there."

"Oh," Momo said, not really understanding but accepting the fact.

For a while, the two just stood there, watching the warriors walk past, splendid in their armour, banners adorning the sky. The colours were whirlwind-like in their ferocity. Unlike the more scholarly people in the East, the Westerners lived in a harsh environment that abided strictly to the survival of the fittest. Even the least skilled had a vast wealth of fighting knowledge and cunning – the weak were killed without mercy, thus earning them the name barbarians in the East. For them to come so far East was a big occasion greeted with caution by the ruling parties who were fully aware of what this rare race of people were capable of on the battlefield.

Momo felt her mother's hands loosening and turned in confusion. Her mother was still holding her up, but her grip was weak, and Momo felt her muscles trembling as she put her down.

"Mama?" Momo questioned, seeing her mother's face had lost some of its colour. "Do you have to go to the doctor again?"

Her mother smiled tiredly and absently rubbed the small of her back. "Sorry Momo… will you be all right on your own?"

Momo nodded, and her mother limped away after giving her a small goodbye kiss.

Without her mother's assistance, Momo strained to see over the heads of the crowd jostling in front of her, but soon found that she was small enough to push between most people's legs. Using the revelation, she managed to wriggle her way to the front. However, there was one last obstacle that still irked her.

She stared in frustration at the considerable width of the plump woman in the front row. Determined brown eyes narrowing, she ran forward and jammed herself between the woman's right leg and the man beside her. They didn't seem to feel a thing as her face poked out, the rest of her body quickly following. Her view was finally free from all obstacles, and a marvellous scene it was! Taking a sharp intake of breath she absorbed the scene before her like a sponge – there was so much information, beauty and lights she felt overwhelmed.

The sun glinting off metal dazzled her, and she blinked, disoriented for a moment before refocusing. The people looked so _tall _and powerful, she felt so small and insignificant beside them. She gasped along with the rest of the spectators as the last line approached. These were the four noble houses that had a long standing history of bearing the greatest fighters. She strained forward for a better look, but the fat woman beside her, having finally noticed her unwelcome presence, gave Momo a harsh jostle with her hip, making the girl pitch forward with a yelp.

Her head expected a hard landing, probably killing a few hundred brain cells in the process. Instead, she was cushioned by something soft. Momo blinked a few tears of pain from her eyes and found she was sprawled on the ground, half supported by something her own size. One hand was empty and she looked frantically around for her wildflower. It was white, she remembered and found a large mass of it beneath her nose. For a moment, she stared at it, dazed, not knowing that petals could be so thin and silky.

"Oi, gerroff me," a muffled voice came beneath her and she quickly sat up, backing away. A snowy haired boy propped himself up with an elbow, sharp turquoise eyes wincing from the hard landing. For a moment, Momo's eyes were glued to his face. His colouring was so pale she wondered if it was a common trait amongst Westerners. Then she saw the tanned skin of the people around them and guessed not.

"Who-" she stammered, face heating as she realised the area was deathly quiet. Her little spectacle had brought the entire parade to a halt and she could feel the accusing stares of the hundreds gathered to watch the march. Her embarrassment only increased when she looked back to the boy again after a scared look around the parade grounds. He was staring openly at her, curiosity evident in his gaze.

She bit her lip, an uncomfortable feeling worming in her gut. "My flower," she whispered, wanting to step away from the centre of attention but knowing she could go nowhere without the day's achievement.

The boy blinked, and the connection was broken. "Oh, this?" he said and offered her the pure white wildflower. It was a little crumpled from their collision but Momo didn't care. Quickly, snatching it from his hands, she fled the scene, face burning.

Pushing through the crowds was an easier, if not rougher affair of crashing into people. Until the parade grounds were safely behind her, she could feel a steady prickling at her neck that reminded her of ocean coloured eyes and snow textured hair.

Cradling her precious flower in her hands, she slowed to a walk as the familiar gates of home swam into view. Blinking, she realised she had tears in her eyes. "Stupid Momo," she scolded herself softly and opened the front door, entering the modest home.

Immediately, she realised there was something wrong. "Tenma-sensei!" she exclaimed, running over to where her teacher and doctor was sitting hunched over a still form. The room was dim, curtains draw tightly over the window. Stopping at the entrance to the room, she found herself unwilling to proceed – both at the grim expression on Tenma's face and the stuffiness of the room.

Tenma stood, noticing her hesitate at the door. "It's alright, come in."

Ducking her head, she made her way to the bed, biting her lip at the sight of her mother whose face was drawn and shiny with sweat.

"Okaa-san…" she said softly, having seen her mother in the state before but still uncomfortable with the huge change from the smiling woman at the parade grounds.

Her mother cracked lips parted and managed to croak out 'water'. Momo hurried to the kitchen at the word, climbing on top of a stool to reach the sink. Fetching a cup from the cupboard, she turned the tap on a filled it to the brim. Hopping down from the stool, she carried it carefully over to the bed. Tenma helped rest the rim of the cup to her mother's lips and the woman took a few grateful sips before letting her head fall back down to the pillow. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Momo watched her mother quietly, but with worry. "Is… okaa-san alright?" she asked Tenma timidly.

Tenma looked at her, helplessness in his eyes. Momo felt her spirits sink at the sight. "I'm sorry Momo. She's been drastically ill for 7 years already. I'm surprised her immune system hasn't collapsed already from the strain of both the illness and motherhood. I've done all that I can… the medicine's expensive but it turns out it only managed to provide short term relief. Momo, she'll die if a miracle doesn't happen."

Momo shook her head, not wanting to believe the doctor. "She'll recover. She has before. She will again," she said with determination.

Tenma sighed but deposited two glass bottles with small brown balls inside along with instructions on the medicine's application. Momo saw him out the door and Tenma wished them all good health before leaving.

After the doctor's departure, Momo fetched the flower jar from her windowsill and put it in her mother's room, placing the white wildflower inside. She managed to wake her mother and administered some of the medicine Tenma gave them, reading the instructions as best as she could. Her mother gave her a small smile of appreciation for her efforts before lapsing into a troubled sleep again. Momo found herself half dozing at the effort but pinched herself awake, remembering the amount of chores that still had to be performed. The parade incident earlier in the day was all but forgotten as she swept, cooked and cleaned. She fed her mother as best as she could, but much of the soup was wasted. Finishing the rest off herself, she felt sleep overtake her again.

Slowly, her head fell on the desk onto a half-deciphered piece of Tenma's instructions. "No…. not yet…" she mumbled but the wooden table-top felt so comfortable, and her mother's soft breathing was almost like a lullaby. Her gaze wandered over to the windowsill and found the white flower. Vision blurring as her eyes dropped close, she uttered a short prayer for a miracle.

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:) Just posting it to glean reactions... This will take a while to write as it's the piece I'm bringing to Writer's Society at school and one of the specific conditions is: NO STRESS

As many of you fellow writers will know!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **A thousand apologies for the late update! I wrote four versions of chapter two (two complete ones, two incomplete and then scrapped) and this is version four. Just one thing to note while reading this chapter - both Momo and Toshiro are nine, which means they are much too immature and underage for any sort of romance. From personal experience, a nine year old tends to get along very well with the opposite sex, however there are no complicated feelings underneath that. BUT they do grow up. In either chapter three or four, and then we will all have our fangirl moments :)

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The snake charmer had a face scrunched in uninterrupted concentration as he played the short whistling tune on the bamboo flute. The green coils in the basket waved hypnotically as they spiralled their way to the sky. A low hissing accompanied the tune and Momo found herself coming to a halt to stare at the charmer with the childlike curiosity of a nine year old. Of course, that wasn't too surprising considering she _had _turned nine not two days ago.

Tearing her eyes away from the spectacle, she pointed at a clump of dried herbs laid out on a reed mat full of wares for sale. "How much?" she asked.

"3 coppers an ounce," came the reply. Momo nodded and took half a bundle. She had come to the market often these last few months and the sheer variety never ceased to amaze her. The small pouch of coins that was omnipresent on her person, tied carefully via a red ribbon on her waist was carefully opened and the correct amount counted out. The vendor bit into each coin and nodded, confirming their authenticity. Momo tied her shopping into a separate bundle and left, subconsciously humming the snake charmer's tune under her breath.

She wanted to get home soon, her mother's medicine was already several minutes overdue, but then there was the problem of a ring of people blocking the path. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she proceeded to push her way through the outskirts of the crowd. "Excuse me," she said. "Excuse me, excuse me…"

The people were either all deaf or much too eager to pay much attention to her and before long, she found herself jostled towards the centre where undoubtedly the object of everyone's interest resided. She was pushed into the back of someone's coat and found herself suffocating in the prickly fabric before a push to her shoulder sent her stumbling towards another. To her horror, in this indirect way, she was soon weaving her way to the front, which was exactly the opposite direction she wanted to be.

"Little thief!" a man snarled. A toppled cart of oranges lay on the roadside behind him.

The 'little thief' was a dazed boy who was looking at the man with befuddled confusion that soon cleared when he realised what he was being called. "Looking for a fight, ratface?" he countered, dusting off his loose black robe as he stood.

The crowd around Momo shifted as a ragged cheer was raised on the word of a potential brawl. All too familiar with the ways of the street, Mom winced. There would be no chickening out of the fight for either of the two. Once the blood of the crowd was heated, any unwilling participant would be gutted alive. She looked at the boy, taking in his scrawny build and inwardly screamed at his stupidity. He shouldn't have provoked the crowd. He should have submitted quietly to avoid injury.

The boy was wearing a dark red hood and when his opponent readied his fists, he growled and sprinted forward. His attacks were lightning fast, leaving few openings, always a hit-and-run method. However, the difference of experience between the two became more and more obvious as the fight progressed. The hooded boy had sharp reflexes and amazing agility but he could do little damage. The man was defending himself easily; his muscles toned from years of hauling fruit carts around the marketplace. With a sinking feeling, Momo realised that all the man needed was an opening – no matter how small – and it would be a one kit K.O.

That opening came not long after. One mistimed step and the fist flashed, connecting with a crack on the boy's jaw. He flew backwards, crashing into the ground, a small line of blood running down a cheek. After a minute of no movement, the winner was decided. The man rubbed his hand uncomfortably on his shirt, a small smear of blood staining the white fabric. The crowd cheered, sated, and slowly dispersed. Nobody wanted to be the attention of the crowd, yet nobody could resist the thrill of the kill.

Momo had averted her eyes at the last moment but as the area around the defeated boy cleared, she rushed forward, supporting his head gently on her lap. Removing the hood to get a better understanding of the nature of the injury, she gasped as a shock of snowy hair scattered on her lap. She had a feeling she knew his eye colour now too.

"Stupid," she scolded out loud. Taking a clean white handkerchief out of a shirt pocket, she cleaned the blood off him. No serious damage had been taken – his opponent had softened his punch at the last minute, but a large purple bruise was starting to form. She wet the handkerchief with a spot of water and wiped it gently over the bruise.

"Ouch…"

The boy stirred beneath her, one eye blinking open. "That hurts."

Momo huffed. "You should be grateful I'm even treating you like this."

"Yeah, thanks. But it still hurts."

Momo fought the urge to rub the bruise extra hard. Instead, she reached into a pouch and withdrew a leaf, crushing it with another drop of water and spread the smelly ointment out on his jaw.

The boy sniffed and made a retching sound. "Now what," he grumbled. "Are you trying to poison me with smell?"

This time, Momo couldn't resist and increased the pressure of her fingers. The result was satisfactory – seeing his face turn a shade of blue at the pain.

When Momo rummaged in her pouch again for another poultice to treat his wound, he had the wisdom to clamp his wayward mouth shut. Soon, she could see his face smoothing into an expression of surprise as most of the pain was taken away.

Momo smiled, happy that her cure worked. She looked at the boy curiously, taking in his strange clothing that seemed made more for ease of movement than comfort and endurance. "What happened between you two?" she asked. "You didn't actually steal his oranges, did you?"

The boy shrugged defensively. "Maybe. But it wasn't stealing. I was hungry and his cart was in the middle of the street, unattended."

"And who in the world would leave an entire cart full of oranges for free pickings?" Momo phrased it in a way that suggested there was no answer.

"The wood-elves," he answered immediately. "And sometimes the dragons too, when they grow too fat and lazy."

Momo looked incredulous.

After a second of looking as honest as he possibly could, the white haired boy burst into laughter. "Silly! Did you actually think I was serious?"

"That's why I said you were stupid," Momo said indignantly.

The boy didn't answer, a teasing smile on his face that suggested the opposite. "I don't have to be smart to be a warrior – just have plenty of wit about me when I fight. Father's the best there are, and he promised to teach me to surpass him when I grow up." He was positively glowing at the prospect. "But before that, he said I have to study and memorise all the books sensei will give me."

Momo snorted, remembering the earlier evaluation she had done on his fighting skill. "Sure, and all the diseases in the world will have a cure." She had meant for it to sound light-hearted, but it came out with a dark undertone that highlighted all of the tears of the past month.

The boy studied her closely, his eyes narrowing in a considering way. "But they do," he said softly. Momo stared at him, registering the sincerity in his turquoise eyes with a pounding heart. He offered her a hand. Momo ignored it and packed all her things away before standing.

"Well, I'm going," she said tightly.

"What's your name?"

Momo paused. "Momo Hinamori," she said.

"I'm Toshiro Hitsugaya."

Silence. The conversation seemed to have ended. But just as Momo decided to leave, he spoke up again.

"Our camp is next to the east gate. Thank you for what you did today."

Momo turned quickly, hearing the hidden implications in his words. But Toshiro was gone, vanished into the bustling crowds of the market. Momo felt hope rising in her from the slipped statement earlier. It could have just been a young boy's fancy, but after living in constant fear for her mother's health for so long; any sign of a solution was firmly grasped and held close to her heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Ever since the westerners first past through the short three months ago, the city had been noticeably more crowded as demand swelled in response to the sudden rise in population. The place Momo lived in squatted on the border, neither entirely part of the West nor part of the East, so the new addition to the population was welcomed with relatively open arms. Despite keeping a close watch on the gossip mill, she couldn't find any reason for the sudden migration.

"I'm home!" she called and changed into slippers, padding softly into the kitchen and putting the pouch of her shopping on the table.

"Momo…" her mother beckoned and Momo ran over eagerly, launching herself into her mother's arms. "Did you have a safe trip?"

"Mmm," she nodded and smiled up at her. "I got the herbs Tenma told me to."

"That's my Momo," her mother crooned and Momo blushed at the praise. "Dinner's ready, make sure you eat well."

Momo bobbed her head. "Yes."

She ran back to the kitchen, inhaling the rich aroma of her mother's cooking. Climbing onto a chair, she dug in, relishing the taste of good, home-cooked food after a long day out. Her mother joined her minutes later, having cleaned most of the dishes and taken her medicine. Her skin once again glowed with health and Momo almost felt that things were back to normal – before the medicine had lost its effectiveness. But small hesitations in speaking gave her mother away. Once the meal was done, Momo felt her spirits plummeting once again and padded wordlessly to bed, sinking into the pillow with a heavy sigh. Her mother watched her daughter with a small frown, but a sharp pain shooting from her heart stole the energy she needed to sooth her child's fears. Before long, the Hinamori household was shrouded in silence as its occupants both succumbed to slumber.

-oooooooooo-

A week passed before Momo took any action. It started in the morning, a regular morning as always with all the smiles and greetings that accompanied the rise of the sun. But like all change, it had to start with familiarity. And when her mother tripped on thin air, the glass breaking sounded as if her heart was breaking with it. Momo cried out at the same time, running to her side, her previous occupation forgotten in an instant.

There was no blood, as the wound came from within. A dreadful pain to the heart that only the carrier of the disease could understand that constricted the chest and reduced the outside world to a pool of white noise. Momo had never felt so helpless, clutching at the book of herbs Tenma had given her to study, desperately thinking of a way to ease her breaths, bring colour back to her cheeks. Except Tenma knew the pages inside out, and even he couldn't find a cure for the illness.

She felt torn. She didn't want to leave her mother in her vulnerable state like this, but she couldn't let her suffer any more either. Tenma will know the answer, was the only shred of comfort she could summon. But deep inside she knew that Tenma didn't, but maybe someone else did.

"West…" she whispered shakily, and without a backwards glance, picked herself off the floor and bolted out the door, repeating his instructions in her head over and over. _Our camp is next to the east gate._

She couldn't recall much of her journey to the gate, all she could remember was the horrid sensation that she was going to lose something precious to her if she didn't act. But even the stress of the situation couldn't stop the gasp of surprise that escaped when she caught sight of the camp. The tents were made of a strong, durable black material that she had never seen before, guarded by soldiers dressed in the same loose clothing that Toshiro wore. As she nervously entered, their experienced eyes registered her presence with barely a glance but never focused entirely on her alone. She saw some of their expressions changed to curiosity as they realised they were dealing with a child.

"Um," she began timidly, reminded of the day at the parade. They were all taller than her, and she now realised that the fancy metal armour was only for show – their real battle costumes were much lighter, allowing for the fast execution of attacks that she had seen Toshiro use. "C-can I see your leader?"

They stared down at her and Momo shrunk back, intimidated. "What business do you have with him?" one asked.

Momo squeaked. "M-my mother's ill and I need a cure…" She closed her eyes and blurted, "I heard you have the cure for all diseases!"

The guards exchanged glances before roaring with laughter. Momo flushed, suddenly angry with herself for believing what Toshiro said. She should have known it was a hoax!

One guard chuckled. "There's only one place you could have heard that from. Come with me." She turned and strode away. Momo stared at her in surprise, but followed.

They wove their way through the camp, Momo often catching herself staring openly at the fresh sights and sounds that greeted her. Some parts of the rumours surrounding the West were true, she found, watching a boy and a girl spar. But from the careful, assessing way the onlookers were observing them, it was apparent they were far from barbarians.

"In here." The guard lifted up the entrance of a tall flowery tent near the centre of camp. She had to stoop to enter but Momo walked through easily.

"Kyoraku-san, there's a visitor."

"Oh?" Sprawled comfortably on a pile of cushions and downing a cup of sake, a middle aged man with shaggy brown hair hauled himself up and squinted at Momo through alcohol blurred eyes. "Who are you? Would you like some sake?"

A shout of pain echoed around the camp as the guard brought her fist abruptly down on Kyoraku's head.

"What are you thinking, offering sake to a child?"

Kyoraku rubbed his aching head tenderly but realisation dawned as he looked at Momo again. "Damn. Come back when you grow some breasts, okay?"

He had to duck as the guard brought another fist crashing down.

"Pervert," the guard muttered and turned away from the drunken captain back to Momo. "My apologies. Maybe come back when he's sobered up a little?" she suggested.

Momo shook her head adamantly. "No, this is urgent!" she pleaded. "If mother dies, I… I…"

The guard looked empathetic. She placed a hand on Momo's head and ruffled her hair gently. "I understand. I'll talk to him for you." Suddenly, she seemed years older.

"Listen old man," she said, jabbing a finger at Kyoraku's chest. "This young lady is here for that supposed miracle cure you discovered some years ago. Don't you dare disappoint her."

Kyoraku blinked up at her. "You mean the herb, Nanao-chan?"

"Yes, I mean the herb."

Kyoraku looked considerate for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "It cost me an arm and a leg to bring that back and you're suggesting I give it to a complete stranger? My answer is no."

Momo's lungs seized at the answer. The guard looked like she was about to scold Kyoraku again, but Momo beat her to it. Falling to her knees, she bowed her head. "Please!" she said, desperation in her voice. "Please give me the cure! I'll do anything!"

Kyoraku's eyes narrowed, the seriousness of what the girl was asking pushing aside the effects of the sake. "Anything? You would sacrifice that much?"

Momo bit her lip but inclined her head the slightest fraction, struggling to hold back the tears.

Kyoraku stood. "Take care of her, Nanao. I need to talk to Jushiro."

He swept out of the area, rumpled robes billowing as the tent flap closed. Momo remained where she was, arms shaking as the full brunt of what she had done hit her. A comforting hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up to see Nanao's face smiling down at her.

"I use to think all the Easterners were complete wimps, but you're completely different. Don't worry, Jushiro's a kind man. He won't put you in any danger."

Momo smiled weakly. "Thank you, Nanao."

They waited for what seemed hours, but only several minutes had passed. Sometime during the wait, two servants came and took the empty sake bottles away while replacing them with full ones. Nanao sniffed disdainfully, and when they left, immediately tossed them outside. Momo asked why she did that and Nanao replied that Kyoraku was getting too drunk to do paperwork. The expression on Nanao's face gave Momo the impression that any leftovers fell to her.

Before long, Kyoraku returned. He was wearing a small frown that lent a more mature look to his normal foolish smile. "He agreed," he said to Nanao.

"What's wrong?" Momo asked, something about the way Kyoraku was refusing to meet her eyes causing unease to blossom in her chest.

Kyoraku met her gaze full one. The wrinkled brown eyes looked deathly serious, with a slight hint of pity behind them. "I want to ask you again. When you mean do anything, do you really mean it?"

Momo hesitated. She wasn't so sure anymore, this had gone beyond a mere request to something that resembled more like a sacrifice. But there was one thing that remained a certainty – she couldn't let her mother die, and they possessed the only hope that kept her going. After all, didn't both Kyoraku and Nanao confirm the existence of the miracle cure?

"Yes," she managed and fidgeted as both Kyoraku and Nanao said at the same time; "Are you sure?"

A nerve snapped. "Yes I am!" she said, furious. "Please take me to this Jushiro person or at least someone who can _help_!"

The two adults both smiled.

"His tent is the big silver one in the middle, you can't miss it," Nanao instructed. "Oh, and here-" Rummaging in her bag, she produced a bright yellow lollipop. "Nothing like something sweet to ease the stress!"

Momo stared blankly at her. Nanao pushed the lollipop into her hands insistently. "Take the time to enjoy your childhood while you have it. Don't grow up too early, alright?"

Momo mumbled an incoherent reply but Nanao accepted it with a smile. A bright ray of sunlight flooded the tent and she saw Kyoraku lifting up the flap to reveal the outside. A large silver tent, exactly as Nanao described, dominated the centre of the camp. Momo swallowed. Stepping outside, she covered her face as a strong wind blew dust and debris into her eyes..

"Um… thank you!" she said, but the thick fabric curtain of Kyoraku's tent had already come down. Momo looked at the sweet in her hands, contemplated for a moment, before setting it down carefully by the entrance.

Done, she squared her shoulders and let herself in Jushiro's tent. Immediately, a shower of lollies rained down on her. She looked up, startled, and almost got an eyeful of raspberry liquorice as the bucket emptied the last of its contents down.

"And I thought it was my cute son."

Momo brushed off the final bits of confectionary. She squeaked as she caught sight of Jushiro. She could see the resemblance clearly – white hair, pale skin, but when the man opened his eyes she felt a part of her feeling disappointed. Warm brown irises full of familiarity stared back at her, causing her own gaze to falter.

"Um, I-"

"Hush. I know why you are here and I am willing to grant your request."

Momo experienced a moment of elation. "Really?"

"Yes. Except as according to the ways of our clan, I cannot do so without payment equivalent to what I am giving you."

"B-but I don't have-"

Once again, Jushiro shushed her. "Ten years," he said firmly. "That is all the time I can allow."

"What do you mean?"

"Kyoraku will heal your mother, if in ten years time, you agree to come with us."

Momo's eyes widened. She tried to speak but found shock had frozen her throat.

Jushiro rose from his inclined position on the chair and she noticed the strength of his body, the grace of his movements, the feel of control radiating off him. She felt cowed by this man and was made more and more aware of how young and weak she was in comparison. Jushiro smiled down at her. "It's your decision, in the end. Choose wisely – I will leave this room for a while if you wish to decide alone."

Momo shook her head. "No. Heal her! The conditions are fine. I'll be all grown up in ten years." She remembered the discarded lollipop and suddenly wished she had it here to suck on. A sudden realisation of what Nanao had tried to tell her hit her. "I want my childhood," she whispered.

It was at that moment, Jushiro felt the last of the doubts about his decision were wiped away. He could see with glass-like clarity of what this girl would grow up to become and it reassured him that she would be joining them at the promised time. A small smile ghosted across his lips and he nodded simply. "Where is your mother?" he asked.

Momo told him.

That afternoon, as an exhausted Momo dragged her feet back home, she saw a miracle. A lost smile had been found again, and the next ten years were some of the happiest in her life.

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**A/N **A word of support to all those who have a deceased parent. I wish miracles could exist but if they do, they'll probably come with a price.

A giant thank you for all the encouraging words from the last two chapters! They are incredibly inspiring and fire me up to write whenever I read them!

It's the holidays right now so updates will come quite fast (hmm... one a day or every two days?) but unfortunately the speed will falter quite a bit once school starts again. But with luck, the story _may _be finished before then.

:)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Finished this late last night so couldn't upload until this morning :) Enjoy!

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"Momo, come join us!"

Momo looked up from the pages of her sketchpad. A girl with terracotta coloured hair waved from the soccer field. She grinned and waved back.

"Sorry – I need to finish this in time for you-know-what!"

The girl's expression immediately changed into something sly as she giggled into her palm. "Good luck, Momo! We'll be here for you if anything happens!"

Momo returned her laugh but inside, her stomach was growing butterflies. It had taken her years to gather her courage enough to confess, and then some more to decide _how _she was going to. In the end, her strange behaviour had finally led to a confrontation with her best friend, Amu and the girl had told her bluntly – just do it.

Coincidentally, it was also his birthday in a few days, so she decided to draw something expressing her feelings. She was the shy one in class, but through art, she could truly speak out. A famous artist had recognised her talent and hinted that he might take her on as an apprentice. Just the thought of it had her pulse racing.

Smiling, she scribbled the approximate layout of where the flowers were going. It would be finished after her nineteenth birthday and a few days before his. She still needed to complete the preliminary sketch before painting it.

The sound of the gong rang out through the courtyard. Momo glanced up at the darkening sky with surprise. It was already this late… time passed quickly when she was working. Packing her things away, she shouldered her pack and joined the stream of students trickling out the gates. It was hard to curb the urge to sprint back home just to make sure that everything was as it should be. The experiences of when she was younger had left too deep a mark. Any moment, she was sure she would wake up to find it was all some twisted dream.

"I'm back," she said and dumped her bag at the entrance. "I'm going to the local café for a while but I'll be home before the sun sets."

Momo's mother smiled at her, nodding her approval before resuming her reading out in the garden.

The café where Momo visited regularly was a small shack constantly filled with the aroma of tea and a strange brown substance the people called 'coffee'. Apparently, it had an exquisite taste and was imported from far off countries. Momo had tried some, and decided it was just bitter. But the tea they served was top quality, and Momo always made sure she had a healthy amount in stock at home.

Before entering the shack, she took a long sniff. _Sunflower, with cinnamon infusions. Refreshing for summer time, but a bit too light for winter. _She opened the door and let herself be bathed in the steamy warmth of boiling water and brewing beverages.

"Ah, Momo. Good to see you."

The owner of the place was a strange man called Urahara. He seemed to have several changes of the same clothing, or maybe he just wore the same one every day.

Momo bowed politely. "How are you doing, Urahara-san?"

Urahara considered for a moment, fanning himself idly as he thought. "Well enough. What will it be today? Lemon, sunflower, mixed or infused?"

"The winter mix," she said immediately.

Urahara snapped his fan shut and began to bustle around the shop, taking several paper bags and filling it with a combination of fresh and dried leaves. "The usual price," he said and handed her the bag.

Momo counted out a silver coin and deposited it into Urahara's palm. The man's hand closed and he withdrew the payment into a hidden pocket in his yukata.

"How's business?" Momo asked.

Urahara shrugged. "Oh, things have been quietening down from a year ago, ever since they left but that's to be expected. We sold an entire shipment of beans yesterday; they seemed to be in high demand down near Flightstone."

"Do you have the mix I asked for ready yet?"

"That? I almost forgot." The man walked leisurely to the back of the shop, opening a drawer and taking out another small paper satchel. "Here you are. I must say, a most unusual request. I had an immensely enjoyable time making it, though." He fixed her with a critical gaze under the brim of his hat. "I am surprised you thought of such an idea. By the way, someone came over today and said he wanted to see you."

Momo's heart skipped a beat. _Could it be? _"Who is it?"

"Looked around twenty, rather tall, pumpkin hair."

"Oh…" She was disappointed that it wasn't _him, _but Urahara's description didn't match anyone she knew. "Did he mention the reason?"

Urahara placed a finger to his lips and said in a business-like manner, "Private and Confidential."

Momo huffed. "Fine. Well, I'm leaving then."

Urahara smiled and tipped the brim of his hat down further over his eyes. "My very best wishes for you mother's health," he said smoothly and closed the door behind her.

Momo closed her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. When she opened them again, she had a nasty jolt. Exactly as Urahara described; pumpkin hair, rather tall (more like giant) and looked a year older than her (except the scowl raised that to three). "W-who…" she stammered.

He looked down at her, unamused. "Kurosaki Ichigo," he introduced, not unkindly. "I'm here on Jushiro's orders. We can leave whenever you like but it'll be before sundown today."

Momo's mouth fell open and she glanced worriedly at the sky. It was already transforming into the bright fire of sunset, but hints of blue could still be seen. She had some time. "Why? Where are you taking me?"

Ichigo kneaded his brow in obvious annoyance. "Don't tell me… you forgot." He looked directly at Momo and the girl saw familiar brown eyes reflected in them. With a gasp, she felt herself catapulted into the past, the events all rushing back to her.

"Already?" she mumbled, still in stunned.

Ichigo nodded curtly. "You seemed to have grown fine. The old man will be pleased about that. He's been going on about you for the past few months, always telling us to fetch you now. But a promise to us is unchangeable. As long as the appointed time has not arrived, you have the right to your freedom."

One thing she constantly asked herself years later was 'why didn't she resist?' It was puzzling – this man was ripping away from all that she held dear and thrusting her into a completely unknown world and she couldn't even summon a kind of verbal resistance. But looking back at it, she realised that she owed them a huge favour. They had saved her mother and restored her childhood, letting her grow up in a proper way.

"I-I need to fetch something…" Momo blurted and ran back home. That Ichigo didn't bother to follow meant that they had some way of tracking her movements. Even if she wanted to, it was fruitless to run. Her mother was in the kitchen, the sound and aroma of cooking flooding the house. Momo felt a sadness welling inside her. The table was laid for two, but only one would sit there tonight. Shaking her head, she grabbed a change of clothes from her room and shoved it into her bag. Her eyes fell on the ink and pad set out on her table ready for a night of studying. Unable to resist the urge, she picked up the brush and scrawled a rough message.

_Thank you. I'll come back. _

_Momo xoxo_

It was getting late when Momo made her way back to Urahara's café. Ichigo was tapping his foot impatiently on the cobbled pavement. When Momo came to a halt before him, panting with the exertion of the sprint, he straightened. "You ready?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded mutely.

The next thing she knew, a living shadow was wrapping around her, lulling her into a gentle slumber. Then something hard was digging into her back. The dizzying sense of motion was the last thing she remembered before time became meaningless in this dark realm. She couldn't make out anything happening in the outside world except that they were travelling inhumanly fast. Even so, the journey took a time and she soon succumbed to a deep sleep. She woke only briefly after that, when the shadow slipped away from her body, but night had truly fallen for her to make out anything other than a noiseless figure laying her gently down on a bed of feathers. It was too comfortable to stay awake anymore.

-ooooooooooo-

When her eyes opened, it was morning. The bed dwarfed her, crisp white sheets hugging her body. She snuggled deeper into the warmth, immensely satisfied with the temperature. The walls were painted a mellow brown with bamboo trees sketched in green pigment at the corners. It was furnished simply and she noticed her bag was at the foot of her bed. Someone had invaded it and set everything out on the table. She frowned and blushed. She hoped whoever it was wasn't male… there were a few things packed that were strictly women's business.

"Finally awake?"

Momo turned quickly and stared. She could hardly believe she hadn't noticed him there before. A snowy haired teen was sitting at the desk beside her bed, buried in a thick volume. "Who are you?" she said finally and sat up, quickly snatching the bed sheets back around her when she realised she was naked under the covers.

He closed the book and tucked it away in his cloak. Raising an eyebrow at her embarrassment, he offered a hand. "Call me Hitsugaya. If I'm not mistaken, your name is Momo."

Momo cautiously let go with one hand to take it. His hand was surprisingly cool to the touch and gripped hers firmly in a short shake. "It's nice to meet you, Hitsugaya," she said politely. His name was hard to pronounce and seemed determined to twist around her tongue so it sounded more like 'Hisugaia'.

Hitsugaya smiled kindly at her attempt and stood, rising to his full height. Momo was surprised. He was short for a boy, only rising to her height even though she was short for a girl. He strode over to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Momo winced as the sunlight hit her full in the face. It was bright and harsh, nothing like what she was used to.

"Welcome to the west," he said and Momo was left to unfreeze her brain and stop gaping.

Now _this _was most definitely a dream, Momo decided.

Except she probably wouldn't be able to wake up from it.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **Never go ice-skating in the morning in bad skates. They give you huge blisters, enough that when you write, the constant pain manages to pepper your story with gloomy scenarios. Fortunately, I'm a sucker for happy endings :)

* * *

West. The legendary land beyond the desert that formed the centre of countless midwife's tales, rumoured to be impossible to travel to without a guide and harboured an extensive history of bloodshed. As she grew from the gullible little girl into a much more capable young adult, she knew to discount most of the legend as inventions of the mind. But the mystic surrounding the lands of the West couldn't be so easily shaken off.

"Oh," was the intelligent answer she provided when Hitsugaya informed her of their location.

A small smile flitted across his lips. "I'll show you around later," he offered. "Get dressed and have something to eat before that, though." He gestured at a neatly folded pile of clothing on the foot of the bed before standing, tucking the book under his arm. When he showed no sign of moving from his position, Momo was left with no choice but to shift her stare from his face, the clothes and herself in a silent hope that he would get the message.

Apparently he did, but his response was altogether unexpected. He held up the frock and Momo realised she had no idea where the sleeves were, let alone how to put it on. "Put your arm through here," he explained patiently.

Momo swallowed, but Hitsugaya seemed far from the impatient type. She inched off the bed, hugging the sheets to cover her body as much as possible while inserting an arm into a wash of cream coloured fabric. It was extremely soft and light, draping in loose waves around her arm. Hitsugaya helped her with the rest of the process until all that was left was dressing her torso area.

Hitsugaya snorted when he realised the source of her hesitation. "I was the one who got rid of those ridiculous clothes you were wearing earlier while you were dead asleep, so don't concern yourself with any notions that I may be what your people call a 'pervert'."

Momo felt she was burning alive with the force of the blush that spread from her cheeks. Nevertheless, when she finally dropped the bed sheets from her body, it was still reassuring to know that it hadn't been a random person who she would never meet again. The moment of vulnerability only lasted for a second however, as Hitsugaya's skilled hands quickly worked the last of the fabric around her chest, tying it in place with an elegant butterfly knot.

"The kitchen's right downstairs. Just follow your nose if you get lost," he suggested. "I have some business to take care of before I can take you around."

Hitsugaya left, leaving the door open while Momo adjusted to the feel of the clothes around her body. It was a pale, butter colour, tied around the middle with a simple pink sash. She wondered how long she was asleep for – she hadn't had dinner when she arrived, and since it was morning… Her stomach growled, ending her musings with its loud demand for food.

Stepping out of the room and into a narrow corridor, she made her way down a long spiral staircase. "Right downstairs," she muttered, looking venomously at all the doorways branching off the stairwell. "I'm definitely lost so I'll follow my nose…"

She took a deep breath, and sure enough, the unmistakeable scent of spices wafted through her nostrils. It was coming from her left. Turning, she decided to try the closest door in that direction. Yanking it open, she cried out in surprise as another girl tumbled through, her hand on the doorknob on the other side.

The other girl landed on her, sending them both tumbling down the staircase in a frantic tangle of limbs. Several flights down, their momentum was halted by a wall marking the end of the spiral segment of the stairs. Momo massaged her sore head with a wince, peeling the girl gently off her.

"Are you alright?" she said in concern, hearing the other groan with pain.

"Kind of…"

The other girl had a neatly combed mass of short raven hair and dark coal coloured eyes. She was wearing the same type of clothing Momo was, but hers had a white sash instead of pink. She blinked and cocked her head curiously as she regarded Momo. "I haven't seen you around before," she said. "I'm Rukia, by the way."

"I'm Momo. How do you navigate around here? It seems so confusing…"

Rukia stood, dusting herself off. "If you've lived here since childhood, it's quite simple, really. But you might need some help if you've just come here recently."

"I'm trying to find the kitchen," Momo said, and sighed as she thought of the amount of doors that could hide the elusive room.

Rukia beamed. "Great! I was just heading there myself. Come with me."

Momo couldn't believe her good fortune and stuttered out thanks before she was dragged by Rukia up a flight in front of a large, open archway leading into a busy corridor. They flattened themselves on the wall and used it to guide their way as busy workers in white coats shouted orders and delivered plates piled high with various delicacies around them.

Finally, they reached an airy room furnished with a merry fireplace and rows of wooden tables. A cook in a stained apron stood at the far end, serving ladles of hot porridge to a line of people. "Over here," Rukia whispered and darted towards the line, jumping in front of a tall man. Momo followed her example and Rukia shuffled back a little to make way for her.

"You still owe me a massage from last time."

Rukia scowled as the man she was in front of spoke. "Shut up," she grumbled. "I bail you out of trouble enough times already. _You're _the one who owes me."

She yelped as a large hand tweaked her ear.

Momo looked at them with interest before recognition dawned. "Ichigo?" she questioned, remembering his name.

Ichigo stopped teasing Rukia and peered down at her. "You're that girl Jushiro asked for. Good work making friends with Rukia, she's a violent midget."

Rukia pinched him sharply on the arm.

Momo was about to reply but the line had moved without her noticing and the serving lady was already holding out her breakfast. Momo thanked her and held the bowl by the brim. The porridge was thick and hearty. Finding a warm place by the fire, she sat down to eat. Ichigo and Rukia both joined her later, nursing their own bowls of food.

"So you were the one that Ichigo left for," Rukia said between spoons. "When he didn't show up all yesterday I was beginning to feel a bit forgotten." She pinched Ichigo again, almost making the man choke on his food as a small reminder that she was there, and wasn't going to leave anytime soon.

Momo smiled at their antics. "I still don't know what I'm here for, though," she admitted and stirred the porridge absently.

"From the way you're dressed I'd say you're supposed to be someone's personal maid."

"M-maid?" Momo spluttered.

Ichigo laughed. "Well, more like assistant. Usually rich folks have one or two for service and advice, depends on who it is."

Momo stared down at the half finished bowl, suddenly not feeling so hungry. Rukia noticed her worry and patted her back reassuringly.

"It's alright," she soothed. "If they're that bad, tell me and I'll beat the lights out of them."

Momo mustered up a cheery smile and answered, "It's too early to judge. I guess I'll know sooner or later."

"Rukia, have you received the envelope yet?" Ichigo asked suddenly.

"Which one?" the girl replied sarcastically. "Red, green, blue with the stripes or stars?"

Ichigo glared at her. "The one your brother sent yesterday."

A silver spoon landed with a clatter on the floor. Rukia mumbled an apology and stooped below the table to pick it up. She disappeared for more time than was usually necessary to pick up dropped silverware. When she came up again, dirty spoon in hand, her face was composed to the point of being deceptive.

"It's here," she said and withdrew a plain white envelope from her sash, handing it wordlessly to Ichigo. The bright haired boy quickly pocketed it before finishing off the rest of his food. Rukia's stare drilled holes in his back as he walked away after bidding the two goodbyes.

"What was that about?" Momo asked.

"Ichigo's part of the External Committee, or EC for short. He acts separately from the main household but is still considered part of it. The rules we create don't apply to him, so it's strange that he would communicate with Byakuya of all people… he despises people who act without rules so something big must be going on." Rukia shrugged. "Whatever it is, they're being awfully secretive. I couldn't make heads or tails out of that letter."

Momo gaped at her friend. "Y-you read it?" she asked. "What if it's meant to be a secret?"

"Secrets are only a secret if they're kept. If it's contained in a _letter _it mustn't be one, then. Am I right?"

When Rukia twisted the logic that way, Momo had no choice but to grudgingly agree. "So, what did it say?"

Rukia's eyes twinkled cheekily and she leaned over the table, pressing her lips close to Momo's ear. "Listen to this…"

When Momo heard, her eyes almost managed to bulge out of their sockets. That kind of information passed around in a letter? It was almost unheard of.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **Sorry I took a while to update so I made it a little longer :) Did anyone go to SMASH in Sydney? Urahara's voice actor was there! (forgot his name) And I was the one playing with the balloon in the Art Room :/ And there was this amazing hitsugaya cosplay and another hinamori one (except they were separate) and a strong urge to tug them together just for a innocent little photo...

Unfortunately, school has started again, and I have a whole stack of assignments on my desk - the result of not doing anything productive in the hols. Well, I will try to write as much as I can, so please enjoy!

* * *

Gradually, the people inside the room filtered out. Momo and Rukia were one of the last to leave, and stayed back to help the servers to clean up. Momo wasn't entirely sure this was out of the goodness of her new friend's heart, and those suspicions were confirmed when Rukia mouthed to her, 'Come to the kitchens between work'. Free midnight snacks sounded good anytime of the day.

But all activity in the room suddenly halted – even the normally defiant Rukia kept her mouth shut and head modestly bowed as someone entered the room. Hitsugaya had stepped in. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't recall assigning you to the kitchens," he remarked.

"I don't remember having to do everything you say," Momo shot back and crossed her arms. She gave him a critical glance. From the behaviour of her peers, he obviously commanded a lot of respect in the household, but right now, all she felt for him was indifference. She admired his calmness under difficult situations, but he had done nothing so far to assert himself in her eyes.

"The impudence!" a serving-woman gasped.

Hitsugaya's expression didn't change. "She's new – be a little lenient on her. I've come for our appointment. It will help you understand better the nature of who you're working for."

He turned and regarded the room. "As you already know, this is the primary kitchen. It is joined to the common dining area which is in turn connected to the central stairwell. You aren't too hurt from the earlier collision, are you?"

Momo froze. _How did he know? He had left in the opposite direction._

Before she could gather her thoughts, he was in front of her, tugging gently on her arm. "Come on, we only have today to cover the entire ground," he said softly. He led her out, and the two found themselves in an empty hallway. Momo breathed in the cool air with a small sigh of satisfaction. It was a relief to be out of the heat of the kitchens, but it puzzled her – she never noticed this small side entrance before.

"The guest rooms are here, along with entertainment quarters." He unlatched a door and pushed it open. Momo gasped. Hidden behind was a giant library, the shelves almost touching the ceiling. Ladders leaned in precarious angles around the room and two large arched stain glass windows let in a kaleidoscope of multi-coloured light.

"This is the only library for miles around. It isn't open for now, but when it is, it is packed." There was a tone of amusement in his voice, and Momo guessed that he enjoyed it regularly.

"Do you like reading?" she prompted, fidgeting with a sleeve.

Hitsugaya hesitated a moment before nodding. "Unfortunately, it's looked down upon," he said softly. "You people are very lucky to have a culture that embraces knowledge."

Momo grimaced. "It gets too abstract sometimes. Fighting is nice and straightforward and doesn't involve people idolising faeces for all its so called symbolism."

"But there is a certain beauty in it – to find meaning in the most modest of things and raising it to a divine status. It really exemplifies the point that all things are important. We warriors find it hard to appreciate since all we do is staining our hands with blood."

"That's easier isn't it? All you need to worry about is survival and practicality instead of some meaningless thing such as the beginning of the universe."

Hitsugaya's teal eyes turned cold. Momo's skin crawled as she felt the temperature in the room dip a tiny degree. Giving no other clue on his change of mood, he introduced Momo to the rest of the estate. It was large, with a huge garden at the front overgrown with trampled grass. People sparred there almost daily – it was one of the busiest parts of the place apart from the kitchens.

Momo had her first real taste of their dangerous lifestyle when a wayward spear came sailing her way. Without blinking, Hitsugaya's hand moved on reflex, catching it easily and throwing it harmlessly into the ground. "That reminds me," he said. "While you're here, it's best to learn some kind of self-defence. You wouldn't want to be impaled by accident."

Momo stammered an agreement, wondering what might have resulted if Hitsugaya hadn't been there. After touring several more areas, Momo's legs were ready to give out on her. Luckily, it came to an end shortly after. Hitsugaya escorted her to her room, allowing her to flop down onto the bed for a well-deserved rest.

After her breathing evened out a little, she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of bed as she contemplated. The estate was larger than she could ever imagine, she could barely tell where it started, let alone how to find the numerous rooms and areas it was divided into. Hitsugaya was stretched out lazily on the floor underneath the window, deciding to rest when he realised Momo wouldn't be getting up too soon. He looked almost like a cat, Momo noticed with a giggle, seeing the contented look on his face from the warmth provided by the sun streaming through the glass.

He yawned widely and stood, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The sun shining on them made them glow a bright emerald, and Momo found herself mesmerized. She changed her earlier comparison. He was more like a snow leopard, all grace and power with a tendency to fall asleep in the most unlikely places.

"It's rude to stare," he grumbled and walked over to her desk, eyes falling on her belongings curiously.

Momo's face heated when she noticed he was looking intently at the picture aimed for _him. _"Don't look!" She snatched the sketchbook from her desk in a hurry, hugging it protectively to her chest. But the damage had been done.

A slow smirk spread across Hitsugaya's face. "You draw very well. But that was more than a drawing – it looked like a confession, to me."

Momo closed her eyes and berated her cheeks for giving her away. "How do you know? It could just be a really emotive drawing."

He was quiet for a while, but suddenly snorted. "I haven't studied people all these years for nothing, but I believe even an untrained eye could see what it was. That was your intention, I would guess. Really, your face is equivalent to an open book in large print."

"That was an insult."

"No. Rather, the opposite. It's rare to find honest people these days."

Hazelnut met teal as they began a silent wrestle of opinion. Hitsugaya wouldn't relent and firmly communicated that _he _was right. Momo could see some truth in his statement but refused to acknowledge it. Something about him irritated her. She felt like she had seen him before, and Hitsugaya looked like he knew. It frustrated her to know that he was deliberately keeping it a secret. If she was a book in large print, then Hitsugaya was a scrap of burnt parchment with code written on it.

"Father wanted to meet you after you got settled in. Tomorrow night on the roof."

Momo nodded mutely in grudging agreement. She couldn't exactly decline. "What if I get lost?"

She heard him sigh. "I'm next door – does that help?"

"Of course it does!" she said cheerfully and threw a pillow at his face. He stumbled back in shock, but quickly recovered, returning it with a playful scowl. Momo hugged it tightly, burying her chin in the fabric and inhaling deeply. It was new and had a sharp scent she wasn't used to. She frowned, looking around the room. It was hard to admit, but she was completely alone here. A foreigner who was expected to change herself to fit in.

"I'm scared," she whispered, and her fingers curled tighter into the cotton. One hand crept out and touched Hitsugaya's lightly, gently asking for support.

Hitsugaya stared at her for a long moment before closing his fingers around hers. "You can be very immature, you know that?" he murmured, but let the subject drop.

Momo was quiet. His touch was supportive, a simple gesture of comfort without any deeper emotion behind it. His palm was callused, a product from all the training he undertook, Momo thought, thinking back to how effortlessly he caught the projectile from earlier. Something hit her, just then, as her gaze wandered around him. She touched the blue dragon embroidered on his shirt with a small frown.

"Are you sure _you _weren't the immature one?" she asked, looking up with suspicious brown eyes.

Hitsugaya met hers with fierce aquamarine ones. "What are you getting at?"

Momo's hand fisted around the dragon on his shirt. Something… a distant memory, perhaps, was struggling to the front of her mind. It had been a long time and the small sliver of her life had to squeeze through ten years worth. Finally, it spilled automatically from her lips as she remembered.

"The wood-elves. And sometimes the dragons too, when they grow too fat and lazy."

Hitsugaya's brow knitted together, seeing Momo's expectant look. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't know. _You _were the one who said that, the thief stealing the oranges. And what I want to know is – why didn't you tell me?"

Hitsugaya stiffened, and his eyes clouded. "Because that would complicate things. You wouldn't understand, it's better if you forgot." He straightened, letting go of her hand and withdrawing it into his robe. He made to leave, but Momo grabbed his arm.

"Wait! Even if I won't understand, please just tell me!"

Hitsugaya stopped, and Momo's blood ran cold. His voice was harsh and biting, a winter blizzard cutting into every word. "Survival and practicality," he said, mimicking Momo's words. She winced, feeling the sting of his voice. "That's all, isn't it?"

He left.

Momo sat frozen on the bed for what seemed like hours. She didn't understand what he meant, but he sounded bitter. So much, that she could no longer see the resemblance between him and the younger boy she had befriended. But what hurt most was that he wanted her to forget that him in the past had ever existed. There was a hidden message, she realised, but the revelation only made her heart sink even lower.

He wanted her to distance herself so she wouldn't be hurt.

_But, why? _She wondered. _There's no reason for him to discard the past, so why? _A clock tolled outside, making her jump. The bell sounded twice. It was early in the afternoon and she had plenty of time to prepare a list of questions she needed to ask his father. It was easier, now, to find the elusive memories that hid deep within the recesses of her mind. He was called Ukitake.

Walking over to her desk, she stroked a finger down the half-finished picture. It would be _his _birthday tomorrow, and even though her plans were all in disarray, she was determined to wish at least an indirect happy birthday. Opening her bag, she took out a small red sable brush and a watercolour set. Letting the colours flow and bleed onto the picture, she used the opportunity to devise the list of questions. Despite the cool indifference Hitsugaya displayed to her, she only found her curiosity piqued. She wanted to know why he had changed from the cheeky, prank-loving boy from her past to how he was now.

She was so deep in her thinking that her hand moved on its own without the beckoning of her mind. She was snapped out of her thoughts when a sudden overflow of blue on the paper screamed at her. Momo almost fainted with the horror.

A large, blue scaled dragon dominated the painting, glowing teal eyes making the normally bright reds pale in comparison. Momo shook her head, in utter disbelief that weeks of hard work were wasted by _one _painting session. Dropping her brush, she made to crumple the paper but couldn't find the heart to do so. Even though the original idea was clearly ruined, the dragon pushing through a sea of fire looked beautiful, stunning even. Instead, she folded it up carefully and put it to the side, taking out a blank piece and starting again.

She mentally promised never to look, or think about the painting again, but throughout the making of the new painting, her eyes kept shooting fleeting glances at the blue-dragon, and inevitably, she found herself painting the same thing again. Putting her tools down in frustration, she decided that some food might solve it. Ducking out of the room, she snuck into the corridor, pausing to stare intently at Hitsugaya's door next to hers. It was quiet, but she worried. _Are you… alright?_

She imagined he replied but didn't have the time to loiter. Following the demands of her stomach, she crept down to the kitchen, entering after a secretive wink from the head cook permitted her entry. The servers seemed particularly absent-minded, leaving stray plates of food floating around the place for free pickings. Momo was just reaching for a samosa when her hand collided with another.

"Rukia!" she exclaimed.

Rukia split the pastry into halves, and handed a piece to Momo. "So, the free snacks nice?" she asked with a giggle.

Momo nodded and brightened. "They cook so well, and the variety of food is amazing! There's so many I've never tasted before!"

"Of course! Our cuisine is a lot different from what you're use to. After he dragged you away, I helped make some."

Momo's eyes widened. "Wow, you _made _some of these?"

Rukia looked proud. "Yep. I told you, I've been here almost all my life, it's only natural I pick up a few skills here and there."

Momo was silent. Rukia had been here for a long time, so maybe she knew about the blue-dragon she kept painting subconsciously and appearing on Hitsugaya's shirt. "Rukia, what's the dragon for?"

"What colour? Red, blue or gold?"

Momo was surprised. She answered so naturally that it felt like dragons were mentioned on a daily basis. "Umm…" she stumbled. "Blue."

"It's the symbol of our tribe, or more specifically, the main family, especially the young heir," Rukia answered. "Why? Who mentioned it to you? It's usually not known by the lower classes."

Momo shook her head. "N-no, it's nothing. I just heard some people talking about it, that's all."

Rukia looked puzzled but shrugged. "Well, if you're sure." She finished off her food with a quick swallow. "I'll be going now, there's a lot of work to be done. Do you know who you're working for yet?"

"No, but I should find out tomorrow night."

Rukia's eyes gleamed. "When you do, tell me. Being a personal maid is one of the better jobs and can have certain… rewards. I want to know _everything." _

Momo stared at her.

Rukia looked disappointed. "Ah, never mind. I'll be seeing you, Momo!"

"Bye, Rukia!"

Momo didn't stay to watch her friend weave expertly through the crowd of people as she left. Instead, she headed back up to her room again, for the moment too wary of stray missiles flying at her head to go into the gardens.

She sat at her desk, glaring at the blank paper as a multitude of emotions ran across her mind. With a final, defeated sigh, she slammed her head down on the wood, at a loss for what to do. Rukia had answered a few of her questions, but those answers only raised a million more. She knew sleep wouldn't come easily that night, and hoped Ukitake would be her salvation from the inevitable late-nighters.

_Blue dragons… and there are red and gold as well… _her eyelids fluttered shut in exhaustion. _But what does it all mean?_


End file.
